


Never Take Friendship Personal

by RationalCashew



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 07:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RationalCashew/pseuds/RationalCashew
Summary: Tensions have been high since Philadelphia. Scully’s acting strange and Mulder can’t figure it out.Post-Never AgainWritten for the X-Files Episode Fanfic Exchange (2019).Angst. Jealousy. Hurt/Comfort-ish?Rated T for a lot of language.





	Never Take Friendship Personal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [specialagentpao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialagentpao/gifts).

> The original prompt: Let’s ignore that Scully is infertile in that season. She gets a pregnancy scare after that one night with Jerse. Even though it’s not Mulder’s life, he gets mixed feelings. Sad drunk Mulder? Will he go to her to speak his mind about the matter? No cancer arc.
> 
> Pao, I hope you like this and that it was, at the very least, in the ballpark of what you were hoping for! 
> 
> Nicole, dude, thank you for organizing this again!! You’re the bomb!

* * *

The smoke burned his eyes. It had been a few weeks since Scully had gone off the deep end and Mulder still found himself frequenting this sketchy establishment. He’d first come here, feeling guilty as all hell, unable to sleep nor get her words out of his mind.

_Not everything is about you._

As though he didn’t know that.

As though reminding him of it changed anything.

As though informing him of that particular fact could erase the fact that she’d almost been killed by a goddamned psychopath with a psychotropic tattoo—a detail which, honestly and ironically, he called into question.

As though he hadn’t almost lost her…in more ways than one.

Mulder scoffed to himself and took another sip of his bourbon, allowing the burn to cure what he didn’t want to face; what he wasn’t _ready_ to face.

No, not everything was about him. Her lapse in judgement sure as hell wasn’t. That was about her.

All _her_.

At least, that’s what he was telling himself in this seedy bar a few blocks from Scully’s apartment because he was too much of a coward to face her; too much of a coward to demand an answer—a real answer. He wanted to know why.

He already knew why.

“Fuckin’ desk,” he grumbled as he raised the glass to his lips again.

He’d buy her every fucking piece of office furniture she wanted if it meant she wouldn’t pull something like that again.

It was official: Fox Mulder fucking hated Philadelphia and everyone in it. Specifically, Ed Fucking Jerse.

What the hell kind of a name was that, anyway?

_What the hell kind of name is Fox?_ Something inside him retorted.

Touché.

He downed the rest of the bourbon in his glass and motioned the bartender, whom Mulder questioned was even old enough to purchase alcohol let alone serve it, for a refill. The young man arched an eyebrow as though debating whether or not to cut Mulder off for the night. He must have looked pathetic enough for the younger man because the bartender poured the refill.

“Y’know, the only time I see a guy go this hard is when a lady’s involved,” he said with the slightest midwestern drawl.

Mulder snorted in derision. “Isn’t that always the story?”

The bartender chuckled. “I suppose so. Want to talk about it? I’m not sure if you know this, but bartenders are basically cheap therapy. You buy the drinks; we provide the ear.”

Mulder looked up, squinting at the kid who stood there with a grin on his face.

He heaved a sigh. “It’s the typical story. Guy loves girl. Guy pushes girl away. Guy doesn’t realize it. Girl finds new guy.”

“Former guy talks to bartender,” the kid replied, receiving a glare from Mulder. The bartender cleared his throat as Mulder took a sip from his freshly filled glass. “Does the new guy treat her better?”

Mulder snorted. “As far as I know, it was just a one-night stand.”

“She cheated.” There was a hint of sympathy in the bartender’s voice that Mulder found slightly disconcerting. Who was this kid to purport that Scully—_Dana Fucking Scully—_was anything but faithful to the people whom she deemed worthy of that faithfulness? In truth, she was loyal to a fault sometimes.

But, in a way, it _did_ feel like she’d cheated on him. What was worse was that he’d given every reason to do just that. He had no right to feel that way, Mulder concluded; yet, he couldn’t help himself. Scully had spent the night with another man and had almost died in the process. The knowledge of that was killing him.

“No, no,” Mulder clarified after another couple of sips, leaving out the part where they weren’t actually in a romantic relationship but, rather, were work partners. Although, he’d never be able to explain why he felt the need to intentionally leave that part out of his explanation. “She was always free to see whomever she wanted. Doesn’t make it sting any less, though.”

“I hear that, brother,” the kid grumbled, giving Mulder the distinct impression that he, too, was dealing with a bad romance.

Except, he and Scully didn’t have a romance. Not really. They had…moments? Flirtation?

He liked to think that they were headed somewhere. Maybe, he’d been wrong. He knew he could be an ass sometimes, but surely she knew how important she was to him. Had he really been so far gone that even she, his beloved Dana Scully, found no redemption in him? If that was the case, why hadn’t she transferred back to the academy to teach or do autopsies? Or, why hadn’t she transferred to another unit or even a different field office far away from him?

“Oh-kay, broski,” the kid said slowly, pulling the glass out of Mulder’s hand and pulling Mulder from his reverie. “You’re cut off.” He looked up to see the kid wiping down a spot where Mulder had guessed he’d made a mess while he was ruminating on Scully’s behavior. “Need me to call a cab?” He must have made a face because the kid added a firm, “You sure as hell ain’t drivin’.”

“I’m fine.”

The kid scoffed. “You were having a conversation with a liquid.” He sighed and said, “Look, I’m not one to judge, but I’m not goin’ to let you kill someone, either.” He jiggled what Mulder recognized as his keys and said, “You can swing in tomorrow and get these or you can call a friend to pick you up and I can pass them to your friend. Your choice, but I ain’t gonna let ya kill someone because you got dumped.”

“I didn’t get dumped,” he retorted. The kid looked at him, seething skepticism, but said nothing. “I didn’t.”

“Whatever you say, broski,” he replied. “I’m not givin’ these back to ya tonight. I might be a kid from the sticks, but I’ve seen too many people get hurt to let it happen on my watch.”

Even in his frustrated, drunken stupor, Mulder could appreciate that.

“So, what’s it gonna be, boss: cab or friend?”

* * *

Mulder stood outside of Scully’s apartment building knowing damn well that being there was a bad idea. Why he’d told the cab driver to bring him here was beyond him. All he knew was that he _had_ to know. He had to know why she did it. He had to know what possessed her to do something so incredibly stupid that—no, he couldn’t phrase it that way. She’d throw him out of her home and walk away from him entirely if he phrased it that way. He needed her too badly to risk that.

Mulder glanced up to her window. The light was still on in the living room. What was she doing up so late?

Was their fight tearing her up inside the same way that it was him?

Did he really want to know?

He half-considered just going home, but something inside of him wouldn’t allow such an action. No, he had to do this. If he didn’t do it now, he never would.

Gathering what strength he possessed, aided by a little liquid courage, he exhaled deeply before proceeding to make his way to her.

* * *

A knock at the door got Scully’s attention and she stopped doctoring her tea to check the clock on the oven. It was three o’clock in the morning. That meant that the person awaiting her answer could be none other than Fox Mulder.

Mulder.

He was the last person she wanted to see right now. Things between them had not been good since before he’d all but ordered her to Philadelphia. Tension abounded and her only relief was walking out of the Hoover building in the evening. Plus, she didn’t want him to see her like this. He didn’t _deserve_ to see her like this; to be the person to whom she turned right now. He was a self-absorbed asshole and she didn’t want to deal with it.

Not right now.

Scully seriously considered letting him stand in the hall, hoping he’d go away as she sipped her tea. But, he knocked again. He knew she was awake. He almost had to know. Otherwise, he’d have gone away after the first one.

Right?

With a frustrated sigh, she set her tea back on the counter and went to answer the door. Best to just get it over with, she figured bitterly.

He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. Scully had half a mind to send him away, but the pathetic look on his face gave her pause. Those damn puppy eyes always gave her pause.

“What do you want, Mulder?” she demanded, crossing her arms in self-defense.

“I…” He paused to swallow. “I just want to talk.”

“At three in the morning.”

It wasn’t a question or even a simple statement of fact. It was a declaration; a calm, icy declaration that told him her walls were up. He hated those walls. He worked too damn hard to tear them down while she worked just as hard to replace the bricks. These were facts that Scully knew all too well, despite how often she chose to ignore them.

Mulder sighed. “Please?”

Steeling herself, she gestured for him to come in and made her way back to the kitchen to retrieve her tea.

“Do you want some tea or...aspirin?” She’d added the last part with a bit of a bite. He must’ve noticed because he winced.

“No, I just…”

Scully glanced up at him. She was surprised that she didn’t see the arrogant, semi-confident man she’d come to know. Instead, she saw an insecure little boy standing before her with a guilty look on his face and his hands buried deep in his pockets.

_I’ll be damned_, she thought to herself. Whatever was happening in that moment, he was taking it seriously and he was nervous.

With a sigh, she motioned for him to take a seat on the couch. He obeyed wordlessly.

“What is it, Mulder?” she asked, sitting beside him. She took a sip of her tea and set the mug on the coffee table.

“I don’t like this,” he said so quietly that he may as well have whispered it. She arched an eyebrow in response. “Us fighting,” he clarified. “I hate it.”

Scully exhaled, fighting with her brain for words. She should tell him. Despite the fact that he’d been acting like a complete dick, he was still her best friend.

“How do I fix this, Scully?” he asked, quietly pleading with her. “Tell me what to do. I can…I’ll put in an order for a desk first thing on Monday if that—.”

“Mulder, this was never about a desk,” she sighed.

Clear and unbridled confusion took up residence on his face.

“Then, what…?” he asked, slowly, his inebriated brain clearly trying to process what was happening.

“Mulder, it’s late and you’re drunk.” She paused, realizing for the first time that she wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to her apartment.

Surely, he didn’t…

“Please, tell me that you didn’t drive here,” she begged, hoping he wasn’t that stupid.

“No. There’s, um…” he pointed to her door and her eyes followed his finger briefly, instinctively, before meeting his drunken gaze. “There’s a bar like two blocks from here. The kid took my keys.”

“Kid?”

“The bartender. He was, um…he was…”

“A kid?” she finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“So, you walked here?”

“Well, no. I-I took a cab.” He nodded for emphasis, but turned a positively unflattering shade of green as he did it.

“You’re not going to throw up on my carpet, are you?” she asked. Not that she was particularly concerned with the carpet, but she definitely didn’t think she could handle someone throwing up on it right now; not when she was queasy herself.

“No. The room is just kind of…spinning.”

With a sigh, she rose from the couch. “Lay down. I’ll get you a blanket and pillow.

His eyes narrowed but he made no move to do as she’d instructed.

“You’re not kicking me out?”

“Apparently, not,” she grumbled.

“Why not? You’re mad at me. You hate me right now.”

“I don’t hate you, Mulder. You can be an ass, but I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” he asked, looking at her with those puppy eyes that Scully frequently cursed herself for being unable to refuse.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then…then, why have you been avoiding me for the last few weeks?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you, Mulder,” she said, walking toward the closet for the promised blanket and pillow. “Take off your shoes,” she said.

When she got back to the couch, he’d removed his shoes and was half-asleep. He looked tortured, even in that state. She should be honest with him and put him out of his misery.

But, this wasn’t about him. And, right now, it really wasn’t any of his business.

“If you haven’t been avoiding me,” he began, slightly slurring his words from what she presumed was a mix of the alcohol and exhaustion, “why won’t you even look at me?”

Something about the way he said it felt like a knife slicing through her. Had she really been that cold toward him?

Scully exhaled and sat on the coffee table, facing him. She swallowed hard and hoped he wouldn’t remember this in the morning.

“I might be pregnant.”

It was a lot harder to say than she thought it would be, but it felt like a weight off of her shoulders.

Mulder’s eyes shot open. Oh, yeah. He was going to remember that. Scully mentally kicked herself for saying anything at all. Really, she should have known it would sober him up.

“What?” he asked, looking utterly dumbfounded.

“Not that you want to know any of this—,” she began.

“I do,” Mulder interjected.

“I’m late. I’m feeling…off.” Scully paused and heaved a sigh before continuing. “I took an at-home test yesterday and it came back positive.”

“So…you _did_ sleep with him,” he concluded in a quiet tone. There was something in his voice that shook her. It wasn’t the judgement she’d been expecting. It was…hurt? Did knowing she was with another man actually _hurt_ Mulder?

“_That’s_ what you took away from that?” Scully blurted, not sure whether to laugh or cry at his reaction. She’d just told him that she might be knocked up by a psychopath and he was upset about the sex part?

“I didn’t…I just…” Mulder exhaled and propped himself up on one elbow, grasping her knee with his free hand. “Are you…how are you?”

She chuffed a humorless laugh.

“I might be knocked up by a psychopath,” Scully deadpanned.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before she rose from the table and said, “Get some sleep, Mulder.”

“Scully.”

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s not… I know it’s not my life, but I’m here if you want me to be.”

There was a conviction in his voice that momentarily paralyzed her.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered when her brain could finally form the words for her mouth to speak. He nodded and dropped back onto the pillow as she proceeded to her bedroom.

* * *

Mulder held his breath until her bedroom door clicked shut. He exhaled deeply.

He sure as hell hadn’t seen that one coming.

The revelation also sobered him up enough to ruminate on it. It certainly explained at lot: her moodiness, the fact that foods she normally enjoyed were suddenly making her turn an unflattering shade of green…

A baby.

A fucking baby.

He didn’t know whether to be happy for her or to cry. He did know, however, that he now had two more reasons to loathe Ed Fucking Jerse: 1. _He_ had slept with Scully when Mulder hadn’t so much as kissed her and, 2. She was probably carrying his child.

Jesus Christ.

Scully—_his_ Scully—was possibly pregnant with another man’s child.

The thought made him so angry he wanted to vomit. He really had pushed her away this time. Right into the arms of an _actual_ crazy person.

Would her baby be as psychotic as its father? Would it be more like her? Which one of them would it look more like or would it look like a mix of its parents? Would she see Jerse every time she looked at it?

Would she let Jerse see the kid? Would she even tell him?

Would she raise it alone?

No, she wouldn’t do that. He would be there, if she’d let him, in any way that she needed or wanted him to be there.

Crazy Uncle Mulder? You bet.  
Mommy’s friend, Mulder? He’d be that, too.  
Mommy’s friend that told the funny stories? A given.  
Father figure? …

Huh.

That one would take some getting used to, but he supposed that he could step up if she wanted him to do that. Not that she would; he didn’t want to make assumptions. If the kid needed a “positive male role-model,” or whatever they were calling it these days, he could do that.

He _would_ do that.

For her.

For her baby.

Mulder breathed several, slow breaths.

God, this was killing him. He wanted to scream, throw things, smash things. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hold her, to alleviate her fears; let her know that she could count on him, that she would never be alone.

The abandoned mug on the coffee table caught his eye. Mulder exhaled a breath before getting up to take it to the kitchen. He grabbed a drink of water, washed his glass and her mug, and went back into the living room.

Mulder stopped in front of the couch, fighting the urge to go into her room, her sanctuary, and tell her all the things he’d been thinking.

He knew he shouldn’t—she needed her rest, especially, if she was growing a baby.

Mulder didn’t realize that he’d completely ignored the rational, functioning part of his brain until he was already tapping on the door softly.

“Yes?” she called in a tone he hadn’t heard before.

He opened the door quietly. “Can I come in?” he asked sheepishly.

“Yeah,” she sighed before sitting up.

He wasn’t sure whether or not to flip on a light but, when she didn’t flip on the lamp, he thought it was best to talk in the dark. It’d probably be easier.

Mulder shut the door behind him and made his way to the bed, sitting on the edge when he’d bumped into it.

“When will you know for sure?” he asked hardly above a whisper as though if the walls knew, they’d blab to the entire world.

“I have an appointment on Monday.”

He nodded as though she could see him in the darkness.

“What are you gonna do? If you are…”

_Pregnant_, he finished silently, unable to say the word aloud for some reason.

“I don’t know,” Scully confessed. “I probably won’t be able to stay on the X-Files. Not as a single-parent.”

Mulder, of course, knew that already. He’d expected that he’d be working these cases alone if she was, indeed, with child.

“You’re not going to be alone, Scully,” he said, resolute in his decision and hoping that he sounded confident. “You don’t ever have to worry about that. I’ll always be here to babysit…or… whatever.”

She snorted at that and he felt some of the tension subside. Mulder took the opportunity to scoot closer to her on the bed.

“Thank you,” she choked. Maybe, it _wasn’t_ a happy snort. She was crying. Was it hormones? Did he say the wrong thing?

Mulder put his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her hair on pure instinct. He wasn’t sure how long they’d stayed that way nor how they ended up lying down on the bed, her head on his chest and his arms around her. But, he wasn’t complaining

“All this because of a desk,” he said quietly. Scully laughed against him and Mulder couldn’t recall hearing a better sound. He couldn’t help but to laugh along with her. After their laughter died down, he pulled her closer and said, “I’m glad you told me.”

“You are?”

_Oh, hello, Skeptical Scully_, he said to himself. _I was wondering when you’d show up._

“Yeah, I am,” he replied instead. “The last few weeks have been…torture.” He paused before adding, “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t particularly enjoy it when you’re mad at me.”

Scully chuffed a laugh but sighed immediately afterward. “I don’t like _being_ mad at you but, Mulder, I haven’t been mad at you. I was when I was in Philadelphia, if I’m being honest, but I haven’t been mad at you lately. I’ve just been dealing with this.”

“I thought you took a test yesterday?”

“I did. But, I’m also a doctor and a woman. I had a feeling.”

“Oh…”

Scully sighed again. “I guess, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to take a test; that I’d be wrong.”

They laid in silence for a few minutes, long enough that he wondered if she’d fallen asleep but, also, knowing that he sure as hell wasn’t going to move unless she told him to move.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispered, “you’ll be a good mom…you know…if you are…”

Scully sniffed and he wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. He seemed damn good at it lately, though.

She rubbed his forearm gently and whispered back, “thank you.”

Mulder pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, hoping she’d allow him to stay with her for the rest of the night.

He really didn’t want to go home. Or…back on the couch.

To his surprise, she did.

* * *

Mulder found himself completely useless on Monday as he anxiously awaited Scully’s arrival. Her appointment was at ten, she’d told him, and she would be coming into work from the doctor’s office.

Part of him wondered if the test was positive, would she call in? He wouldn’t blame her if she did. In fact, he’d decided that, should that be the case, he was going to show up to her apartment with food, a funny movie—because they’d _both_ need to laugh—and prove that he could handle being there.

He wouldn’t say that it killed him inside that she was carrying another man’s baby. He wouldn’t say that he hated that she slept with someone else despite this _thing_ that he thought they had going—provided they still _had_ a thing when it was said and done. He wouldn’t say anything at all.

He’d just show up with ice cream and Chinese food and her favorite chocolate. Possibly cupcakes. Of course, she’d roll her eyes and tell him that he was turning her into a stereotype. She’d ask what he was doing there. Probably not in that specific order, but it would happen. He knew her well enough to know that.

For his part, Mulder would just smile and say, “being there,” and hope that she knew he meant every step of the way.

That’s what friends did.

Friends.

He’d probably try to find a way to change that status at some point, too.

Did she even want help from someone who barely managed to hold his own life together? She sure as hell didn’t deserve that and neither did her currently hypothetical kid.

Then, something happened.

He realized three things in that moment: 1. She deserved so much better than him – although, he’d always known that; 2. He sort of hoped that she was pregnant. Not because he didn’t wish the kid was his – huh, make that four things – but because he suddenly had visions of Little League games and pillow forts. Scully smiling and rolling her eyes at them as he told her kid campfire stories in the living room; 3. He was unequivocally in love with her and he’d be damned if he was going to screw anything up now.

Especially, now.

God, he was a mess. There were too many emotions and thoughts coursing through him. He didn’t know how he could feel so conflicted, excited, anxious, and nauseated all at once.

He was dying at the thought that Ed Jerse might have given her a child; some random, hopefully drunken, one-night stand. It killed him to think that, if the test was positive, she might pull away from him entirely—despite his promises. If he was being honest, part of him _did_ wish the hypothetical kid was hypothetically his.

Mulder had never given much thought to having a family before, never had any reason _to_ think about it. His own family could rival a Greek tragedy. He wasn’t sure he even knew _how_ to have a family.

All he knew for certain was that he wanted her and, if she was having a baby, he would be in that kid’s life, too.

He had no idea how much time had passed during his rumination but, suddenly, his chest tightened and he heard the familiar clack of Scully’s heels in the hall just outside the closed office door. He braced himself as it opened, time slowing as she entered their basement sanctuary.

“Hey!” he greeted with a sugarcoated smile. Mulder could only hope that the smile was believable because, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to puke.

“Hey,” she replied in a tone he didn’t recognize. His stomach tightened from the anxiety as he waited for the bomb to drop.

_Oh, God…_

“How’d it go?” he barely managed to force out.

“Oh! Um, fine. I’m not—I’m not pregnant.”

Just like that relief and slight disappointment washed over him.

“Oh,” was all he could say. Scully arched an eyebrow as she sat in the chair across from him. Her usual spot. God, he should’ve gotten her a damn desk. “Are you okay with that?” he added, not sure how to progress the conversation.

“Yes.” Scully exhaled deeply. “I’m actually kind of relieved.”

He studied her for a moment before asking, “so, what did the doctor say?” She made a face, prompting him to elaborate. “You said you felt off and... all…that…”

_Smooth, dumb ass_, he mentally kicked himself.

“Oh, um, stress.”

“Stress,” Mulder repeated.

“Stress,” she replied with a bit more confidence. There was an awkward silence before she pointed to the file on his desk and asked, “We have a case?”

“Maybe. I’m waiting to hear back from someone.” He forced a grin and held it out to her. “What do you think?”

Mulder watched as Scully studied the file, torn between complete and utter relief that she wasn’t pregnant while, at the same time, disappointed that there wouldn’t be living room campouts or Little League games.

Part of him longed for that, he realized. Not that she would carry someone else’s baby, but he found himself contemplating the idea of fatherhood. He wanted to take the non-existent child to Yankees games and Knicks games. He wanted to watch the World Series on the couch with a big bowl of heavily buttered popcorn. Play catch in the yard…

She certainly seemed relieved, lighter. It was almost like a weight had lifted off of her, Mulder noted silently. One day, she was going to be a good mother. When that day happened, part of him wanted to be the reason. Not that he would ever say any of that aloud.

Unless…  
No.

But, maybe, if…

No.

Possibly.

Not for a while, anyway.

“Mulder, are you alright?” Scully asked.

“Huh?” She frowned at him. “Oh. Yeah. I was just thinkin’.” Scully studied him for a moment before returning her attention to the file in her hand.

Mulder watched as she went through her usual expressions.

_You’ve got to be kidding me…_

_No way in hell…_

_I swear to God if he makes me go to Rhode Island for this…_

_No. Definitely not a vampire._

_Damn it, Mulder. We’re going to Rhode Island, aren’t we?_

_How can I get out of this?_

He knew those expressions and flickerings in her eyes all too well.

No, he wasn’t going to make her go to Rhode Island to investigate a possible vampire sighting.

This time, anyway.

This time, he had something else in mind.

“Hey, Scully?”

“Hm?” she replied without looking up from the file in her hand.

“Want to come over and watch a movie tonight?” That got her attention. Mulder flashed a smile. “Pizza and beer included.”

Something flickered in her eyes that excited him. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt giddy.

“Sure,” she replied with a smile. He felt his smile widen as her gaze returned to the file.

One day, maybe, they’d have those things: the house, the car, the family. One day, maybe, they’d have a kid to take to games and to whom they could tell stories; a cute little mix of their DNA.

He wanted to make damn sure that it was a child born out of love, not a child born out of a night between consenting adults with pressing biological urges – he was that kid and it was not something to be proud of.

One day…

Maybe.

“Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“We are _not_ going to Rhode Island to hunt vampires.”


End file.
